Last weekend, my sister went out of town for some family business. I realize that sounds like we are the Mafia or something, but there was a kerfuffle and someone needed to attend to it. Two someones, as a matter of fact, my dad and Margaret. While she was gone, I spent much of Saturday night and the day Sunday begging and pleading for her dog to come out of the crate, do her business (preferably outside), eat and drink something, and go back in the crate. I was largely unsuccessful. I think the dog had 3 laps at the bowl, one mouthful of kibble, and didn't pee at all. She is, after all, very much a one-woman dog. I was very diligent at this task and made sure that I went over there before the times established by my sister.
She (my sister, not the dog) went out of town this weekend as well, this time for pleasure. And I was again tasked with the challenge of "Lure the dog out of the crate, then outside, then to the food bowls, then back into the crate." (You would think that the dog would recognize the advantages to being able to eat and poop and pee, but not so much.) She left yesterday afternoon.
Tonight at about 12:30, I sat up from my relaxing bed and hollered a bad word.
I forgot completely to go over there last night as well as today.
I write this blog post along the lines of those letters "To be opened in the event of my death." To wit: Margaret did it. Look in the kudzu.
Will it mitigate at all that when I got over there tonight, the dog got out of her crate (after some cajoling), went outside for a while, ate a bite, and is now resting comfortably back in the crate? I'm thinking that the 24 hours she spent cooling her paws did her some good, and she was glad to see me. I won't mention the part about how she disappeared into the dark of the back yard and I was pretty sure for a while that she'd gotten out of the yard, and then this would not be a letter to be opened in the event, because my death would pretty much be assured.
Confession is good for the soul. I am going back to sleep now.